


our starved hearts

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Porn with some plot, Season/Series 01, Secret Relationship, and eventual feelings!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 21:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11239326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: Even in those early days when he wanted to do nothing but wring that pretty little neck of hers, Bellamy wouldn’t deny that he thought about her in fleeting moments when it was just him and his hands for company.(Hate sex is a thing, and he had no doubt in his mind that hate sex with Clarke Griffin would have been nothing short ofphenomenal.)or, Bellamy and Clarke can totally keep things casual between them. Really.





	our starved hearts

**Author's Note:**

> this is at least 75% [mel's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle) fault. also, did i completely fuck with s1's timeline to make this fic work? yes. yes i did. fight me.

This is how it happens: a combination of hallucinogenic nuts, wandering hands, and heavy  words shared beneath a tree.

He doesn’t _mean_ to start anything, not really, but the comedown from the jobi nut fuelled high is _brutal_. His muscles ache, his head hurts and he feels almost feverish, sweat running down his neck and causing his t-shirt to stick uncomfortably to his skin. The chill lurking in the autumn air does nothing to help and soon, after two trips carrying guns and blankets and anything else they’ve deemed useful, Bellamy is practically dripping in it.

Clarke fares no better, a flush high on her cheeks and working down her neck and chest (which he pointedly doesn’t look at- or at least try to) and she’s _panting_ as she follows him back down the steps, something that will no doubt be responsible for making things, ah, _difficult_ for him in the near future if she keeps it up.

Instead of grabbing another load of supplies when he climbs back down, Bellamy leans against the cool wall of the bunker, prying off his outer jacket and letting it drop to the floor. “Break?” he suggests before grabbing the hem of his shirt to wipe at his face.

She’s silent for a beat longer than necessary, and when he looks up, the question poised on his lips, he finds her staring at the toned lines of his stomach. It’s hard not to smirk, and he lets the shirt fall, coughing slightly to gain her attention.

Clarke looks up at him, colouring further once she realises that she has been caught, but merely clears her throat and says, “Yeah, a break sounds like a good idea,” grabbing the water skin from her pack and taking a healthy sip.

She passes it over to him when she’s done, and though he lifts an eyebrow, he accepts it with a murmur of thanks instead of just reaching for his own.

Of course, this might have been her plan, as the second he takes a sip, she pulls her Henley over her head, leaving her in a thin white tank and he almost spits out his water.

“You alright there?” she asks, and he’s certain he’s not imagining things when he sees her bite back a smirk.

“Just fucking peachy,” he mutters, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and trying to avoid looking at her any further. There’s a lot of skin on display- creamy white and mouth watering and gleaming in the light of the glowsticks- and Bellamy really does _not_ need this right now, not when he had her pressed up against him earlier, all warm and soft, absolute putty in his hands. The bunker suddenly seems ten degrees warmer.

“If you say so,” she hums, arms stretching overhead in a way to does amazing things for her tits as she walks over to the barrel of rifles he upended earlier. She daintily steps over the puddle of grease and crouches down next to them, fingers clumsily fumbling over the handguard.

“What are you doing?” he asks, despite himself.

Clarke doesn’t even look up at him. “I’m checking the guns.”

“Do you even _know_ how to check a gun?”

The strap of her tank top is sliding off her shoulder and he adds that to the list of things he should ignore too, swallowing heavily. “It can’t be that hard,” she grumbles before pinning him place with her stare. “Do _you_ know?”

“I was training to be a guard on the Ark. I’m pretty sure I know more than you.”

“Oh yeah?” she challenges, “Then come here and explain it to me.”

It’s a dangerous proposition. He doesn’t know what game Clarke is playing, and while he’s sure he can manage to hold out, his resolve isn’t made of steel. In fact it’s already wavering thanks to her posturing from before and it’s best if he treads carefully.

So of course he doesn’t back down from her challenge and instead crosses the bunker in a few steps, settling down beside her. She smells of sweat and herbs and fresh air, and he’s already regretting it when she shifts closer, giving him a prime view down her shirt. Bellamy clears his throat and makes sure his eyes never drift past here neck as he explains what each part is for and shows her how to disassemble it for cleaning. He realises halfway that she’s not exactly paying attention to what he’s saying, instead staring at his hands, and it makes him think that she’s not the only one whose resolve is being tested here tonight.

He still goes through with the whole thing, continuing until his voice is just a rasp and he can feel his heartbeat thrumming in his veins, and when he’s finished he looks up at her with a hitched eyebrow and asks, “Any questions?”

She shoots him a toothy grin and leans in closer, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Just one,” she starts, cocking her head to the side, “Are you gonna teach me how to use _your_ gun?”

As far as come ons go, it’s a rather terrible line and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Instead, he passes the rifle back over to her and stands up, pretending to consider it. “Something tells me that you’re going to need a lot of practice.”

Clarke straightens too, crowding into his space and his eyes dart down to her mouth for half a second, lingering on the beauty mark over her lip. She rolls forward on the balls of her feet and murmurs, deliciously low, “Then teach me,” before settling down, teeth sinking into her bottom lip and capturing his attention once more.

Her lip slides out from between her teeth, pink and glistening, and he has the sudden urge to lean in and tug on it.

It’s not that he hasn’t thought about her in this way before; he’s not _blind_. He knows that Clarke is stunner, what with supple curves and beguiling eyes and absolutely no tolerance for bullshit. Even in those early days when he wanted to do nothing but wring that pretty little neck of hers, Bellamy wouldn’t deny that he thought about her in fleeting moments when it was just him and his hands for company.

(Hate sex is a thing, and he had no doubt in his mind that hate sex with Clarke Griffin would have been nothing short of _phenomenal_.)

The air between them is crackling with electricity, and she drops the rifle the exact same moment he surges forward, pushing her up against the wall.

Both of their breaths are coming in harsh pants, and her irises have been reduced to a thin line of blue around her pupils while her hands toy with the ends of his hair. He feels floaty, shaky, as though the floor beneath them was made out of jelly, and he clings to Clarke as though she might drift away if he didn’t.

“The gun talk was all a front,” she breathes, curling her fingers through his hair. He tries hard to not let his eyes flutter shut at the tiny pricks of pleasure that run down his spine. “Just thought you should know.”

“Really? I hadn’t picked up on it,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

She tugs sharply on the ends of his hair and his fingers squeeze her hips so hard that he’s worried he might leave a mark. She doesn’t protest though. In fact she seems to _like_ it, hips canting forward into his. He files that bit of information away for later.

“Dick,” she huffs.

“Takes one to know one,” he replies, and then leans down to finally capture her lips.

The kiss is frantic and messy, teeth clacking against one another in their haste, and before he knows it, he has one hand up her shirt, kneading a breast through the worn fabric of her bra, while she scritches her nails down his abs. It’s hot and all consuming and soon enough she’s begging him to take it off, an order he agrees to most wholeheartedly, shucking his t-shirt before yanking off her tank top and going brain dead for a second or two as he takes in all the new skin.

He may have ended up staring a bit longer than necessary as Clarke smirks up at him, dipping her own fingers into the cups to tweak a nipple. A low whine leaves his throat and she breathes out a throaty laugh.

“You do realise that you can do more than just look, right?” she prompts, and it snaps him out of his stupor of watching her play with her own tits.

“But why should I stop you from putting on a show?” he snarks back, even as hands trail across her skin. He ends up groaning again when he finally gets his hands on them. Her skin is so soft and smooth, almost burning feverishly under his touch. Clarke arches into it, and he can’t help but kiss her again.

“I’ll put on a show for you later,” she breathes when he starts to mouth his way down her neck, “Right now I want to see if the rumours are true.”

Her breasts are spilling over the tops the cups and his mouth immediately descends to join his hands, kissing and biting until he can suck a mark into her flesh. She keens with it, head thumping back, and he takes it as his cue to get rid of her bra.

“You been thinking about this princess?” he smirks, laving on one nipple until it forms a stiff peak before paying the same attention to it’s twin. “Asking around about me?”

“You’re a real Lothario around camp, it would have been harder not to hear about you,” she grumbles, nails scritching at his scalp. “My mind tends to wander.”

Bellamy hums against the side of her breast, kneading the other absentmindedly. They fit almost perfectly in his palms and he can probably stay here all day. “So you _have_ thought about this,” he says, before scraping his teeth against her skin. “That’s hot, princess.” Her entire body jerks and a tiny whimper slips past where she’s biting down on her bottom lip. He wants to reach up and pry it free so that he can hear all the sweet sounds she’s making.

“Shit,” she squeaks when he does it again, harder this time so her skin is flushed and bright red.

“What did you think about?” he asks, squeezing the softness of her stomach gently as he slides his knee between her legs to give her some friction. She immediately grinds down on it unabashedly and groans, and it’s possibly one of the hottest thing he’s seen in his life. Clarke Griffin is using his leg to rub one off and he fucking _likes_ it. God, he’s in so much trouble.

“Hmm?”

“You said you thought about this. What exactly were you thinking about?” he says again, sliding his hand down her front to rub his fingers against her. He can feel her, hot and warm, and the fabric of her underwear is already moist, her hips twisting and turning in an effort to get more friction.

Clarke makes a helpless sound high in her throat when he finds her clit, and presses down harder for one last moment before he removes his hand.

“Tell me,” he says, ignoring her whine of displeasure.

“God, _Bellamy_ , I need you to-” her brows are furrowed, eyes screwed shut, and he kisses her again, just a quick peck as he gently pets her side.

“I know what you need,” he says, his forehead resting against hers, palm splayed wide across her ribcage. It nearly covers the entire thing and he takes a second to remember just how _small_ she is compared to him. “I know what you need,” he repeats, watching as she stares up into his eyes, “But first _I_ need _you_ to tell _me_.”

“Is it really that important?”

“Humour me, princess,” he murmurs, leaning down so suck gently at her pulse point.

“Yeah?” A wicked grin tugs at her lips and Bellamy regrets his words then and there. “Alright then.”

It’s a sight to behold really, Clarke Griffin, who he thought as nothing more than the Ark’s stiff, buttoned up little princess, pressed up against him as she goes into detail just how she imagined he would fuck her. How she wanted him to pin her to his bed and take her hard and fast. How she wanted to put him on his back after and run things. How she imagined it would feel to his cock in her mouth or to sit on his face like it was made for her.

Bellamy is _sweating_ by the time she’s finished, feeling harder than he’s ever been in his life because shit, it’s hot hearing all of those filthy things spill out of that pretty little mouth of hers and he groans into her collarbone.

“Fuck,” he finds himself saying, eyes closed as he takes a deep breath to calm himself. “ _Fuck_ , Clarke.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going for,” she grumbles while her hands grapple with his belt. They brush against him and he hisses, sinking blunt teeth into her skin. “You’re the one who keeps stopping things.”

“Impatient,” he says, squeezing her breasts anyway and making her moan with it.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” she tells him, linking her fingers through his belt loops so that she could drag him closer and grind against him. Bellamy swears that he sees white for a moment.

“I will,” he promises, tweaking her nipple one last time before letting his hands stray south. “Right after this.”

He makes quick work of the snap on her jeans and then sinks to his knees, slowly sliding them off as he settles himself between her thighs. He hears her sharp intake of breath from above and flashes her a crooked grin. “I know you’re not exactly _sitting_ ,” he teases, nuzzling her hipbone, and she actual whimpers.

“Oh god,” she groans when he presses his thumbs up against her, a hand tangling in his hair.

“Just Bellamy is fine,” he says, and gets his hair pulled in response.

She’s already wet enough that he can see a damp patch on her panties, he presses a smacking kiss to her clit through the fabric before pulling them off. He tosses them somewhere over his shoulder, neither of them bothering with it at the moment, and spreads her open, fingers sliding through her folds until she shivers with it.

“You good, princess?” he asks, checking in with her one last time, and she rolls her eyes.

“I will be if you just _get on with it_ ,” she replies, ever the impatient one.

Mouth watering at the mere thought of tasting her, Bellamy swallows his cheeky remark and dives right in, choosing to show rather than tell as he buries his face against her pussy until she yells out.

Honestly, he doesn’t know why he thought getting her off would be any different from doing anything else with Clarke. She’s vocal and loud and bossy, and _fuck_ if that isn’t doing anything for him.

She’s not shy, guiding his mouth where she wants him and ordering him about.

“Harder, Bellamy, oh god yeah, just like that- oh _fuck_.”

He regrets not letting her take off his pants now, but he sure as hell isn’t going to stop for anything, not when he’s almost certain that she might strangle him if he did.

(Although the thought of her hands wrapped around _anything_ of his is enough to make him shudder, and he groans unabashedly against her cunt, fingers digging harder into her hips and making her cry out.)

The muscles in her thighs start to quiver as she gets closer to that peak, and she’s no longer talking, it’s just little hitches in breath and soft moans which are somehow _better_ than when she was telling him just how she likes it.

Bellamy’s really learning _all_ sorts of new things today.

Instead of focusing on that, he concentrates all his attention on her, hitching a leg over his shoulder and sucking on clit until she comes with something that sounds like his name in a drawn out version of a sob.

“You’re good at that,” she says when she finally catches her breath, drawing him for another kiss where she can lick the taste of herself off his teeth. He moans with it. “You know what would be better though?” she continues after they part, breathless and palming him through his cargos. His cock twitches and he can’t help but choke out a laugh at her one track mind.

“Insatiable,” he hums, even as his hands aid hers in getting his pants off.

“You made a- _fuck-_ promise,” she pants as he primes her with fingers. He keeps going until she’s writhing again once more, and only stops when she makes that small little gasp high in her throat. He’s already two seconds from coming in his pants like some sort of inexperienced teenage boy, and hearing her come again, feeling her come apart around his fingers, would probably tip him over.

So he pulls out his fingers and kisses her, quick and hot as he palms her tits, shoving his underwear down just far enough so that his cock is free.

“I did make a fuck promise,” he teases her, before curling one of her legs around his hip. She grinds up into him and he can feel his pulse pick up when he feels her, so wet and hot and close to his cock.

Clarke lifts an eyebrow. “Do you plan on ever delivering or do you plan on just running your m-”

The rest of her sentence is cut off in a loud groan as he slides in with one easy thrust, and even he is at loss for words at how fucking perfect she feels around him.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he swears, and she just lets her eyes flutter shut, revelling in the moment. Her hips shift, and he’s already feeling pretty good, breath coming fast and deep, but it must feel amazing for her as she makes this- sound, a cross between a gasp and a sob, clenching down around him, and he’s really not going to last if she keeps that up.

“You can-” she pants a little, her head tilted back, hand finding itself in his hair once again. “Shit, if you don’t move soon I’m going to fucking _murder_ you, Bellamy.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?” he asks, before thrusting into her again, and she just groans loudly in response.

From then on everything is just a haze of heat and sweat and Clarke’s sweet moans ringing in his ears, driving him insane. He’s always been a fan of girls being vocal in bed but she’s something else entirely and every time he unlocks a new sound- a hitch in her breath when his pubic bone rubs against her clit, a groan tight and low in her throat when he thrusts into her hard and deep- he feels a rush go through him.

And then there’s almost no sound at all when she gets close, just tiny little gasps and mewls while he murmurs dirty praises into her skin about how good she feels and how much he loves the sounds she makes and ‘ _fuck Clarke this is even better than I imagined it would be._ ’

When she comes, it’s his name that slips past her lips, falling onto his as she shudders in his arms, cunt squeezing around him like a vice and triggering his own release.

They both slide to the ground, weak kneed and sweaty, and that’s when Bellamy drops his head to her shoulder. One of her hands finds itself back in his hair soon after, carding through his mussed curls, and he nips at her collarbone, while the other traces patterns across his skin. The muscles in his stomach jump when she trails a finger across the vee of his hips, and Clarke huffs out laugh, groaning a little as she stretches out her legs.

“God,” she sighs, slumping against the wall, and he breathes out a laugh.

“I told you, it’s just Bellamy.”

He knows that he probably deserves it for being a cocky little shit, but he still yelps when she pinches the inside of his bicep. “You’re such a _boy_ ,” she wrinkles her nose, and he hides his face in her neck so her won’t do anything stupid. Like kiss it or something.

Instead he waggles his eyebrows and says, “I think I just proved otherwise.”

“Dick.”

“You like it.”

Clarke just clicks her tongue and leans back, not caring for her nakedness. The zipper of his pants must bite uncomfortably into her skin but she doesn’t complain. Bellamy tries not to stare. Much.

“We should head back to camp,” he says when the silence begins to get stifling. Clarke just hums.

“We should,” she agrees after a second.

Neither of them make move to get up, or even untangle their limbs and pull on their clothing.

After a few more minutes, when the sweat has started to cool their overheated bodies and he’s no longer breathing as though he just ran ten miles in the forest, they stand up. Clarke stretches, arching her back, and slowly starts getting dressed while he watches from the side, trying to commit the past hour to memory.

Still, he can’t help the tiny trickle of doubt that appears, which is why he asks, “We’re good, right?” while handing her a rag to clean up with.

She just scoffs lightly. “Of course. Nothing's gonna change at all. This was just… fun.” Clarke lifts a teasing eyebrow. “You do know what fun is, right grandpa?”

He scowls at nothing. “Yes I know what fucking fun is.”

“Good, then stop worrying,” she says, hip checking him lightly. “You’re gonna get grey hair by the time you turn thirty. It’ll totally ruin your reputation of being a pretty boy.”

“Don’t lie to yourself Griffin, you know I’m gonna be a silver fox.”

“See?” she grins, fastening the button on her jeans, “Normal. Now come on, we need to finish getting all of this shit out of here.”

He blinks, faltering for a second as he pulls back on his t shirt. Right. Normal. They could totally be normal.

And so, with a nod, Bellamy shrugs on his jacket and continues helping her box up whatever they could carry back to camp.

Things were gonna be _fine_.

* * *

 

“Have you been avoiding me?”

Bellamy jumps, swearing out loud, and whirls around to find Clarke standing by the Dropship door looking supremely unimpressed. It’s been three days since their… _fun_ in the bunker and okay he’s been avoiding her just a little bit. He has his reasons.

“Um, no,” he says immediately, shifting his hand behind his back so she wouldn’t be able to see the blood dripping from it.

She still notices of course, and just narrows her eyes at him. “Really? Because it seems like you are.”

“I’m not, princess, relax,” he lies, trying to slip past her.

She’s not having it. In one swift move she grabs hold of his injured arm and he hisses through clenched teeth at the sudden shoot of pain. Clarke ignores him, and just brings his palm closer to her face for inspection.

“What happened?”

“Knife slipped while I was skinning a boar.”

She tsks him none too gently and shoves him towards the cot that serves as their examination table. “Sit down and let me clean it. It could get infected.”

“Really it’s fine, I just need a bandage-”

“ _Sit_.”

His jaw snaps shut and he does what she says. Angry Clarke isn’t anything new to him, in fact it’s one of the versions of her that he’s the most familiar with, and while it causes a sharp bolt of fear to strike through him, there’s also a healthy dose of arousal as well. That’s becoming a common reaction to anything she does these days if he’s being honest, and it’s really driving him crazy.

It’s also part of the reason why he’s been trying to see less of her ever since the bunker.

Wordlessly Clarke wipes and cleans the wound, and he just grits his teeth, trying not to wince in pain as she douses it with moonshine. It’s the closest he’s been to her in a while, and he’s desperately trying to seem unaffected. He’s had a handful of dreams over these few days that have started exactly like this.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks suddenly, voice sounding small as she wraps his hand with more concentration that necessary, and he jerks back.

“What- no, of course you didn’t. Why did you think that?”

“Because you don’t avoid the other girls you fuck. I wouldn’t have even _known_ that you fucked Roma or Bree if they hadn’t told me because you’re so fucking normal with them and then minute we get back to camp you ghost,” she huffs, tying off the bandages. He grimaces as she pulls it too tight but does nothing to stop her.

“No Clarke that’s not- no,” he maintains, trying to find the right words. She’s not only an integral part of camp, but somehow along the way she’s become special to _him_ he realises with a jolt. He wants to try and explain that the moment shared in the bunker has been on repeat in his head for the past few days and wants to have her like that again. He wants to taste her, to feel her, to hear her come apart again and again but he also wants her to stay the night after, to press into his side where he can feel her, warm and alive.

It’s some goddamn sappy shit and he wants to smack himself because he does _not_ need to get attached to his co-leader, not like that.

“You’re different,” he simply says after a moment, and her eyes go wide. “I trust you. And I guess I just didn’t want to jeopardise that.”

Clarke doesn’t buy it. “And what, fucking me in a supply depot does that?”

He winces. “No, it just shouldn’t have happened that way.”

“So you regret it.”

“Fuck Clarke why do you have to make everything so difficult.”

“I’m not making anything difficult I just want to know what your goddamn problem is,” she gripes, turning away from him so fast that her hair whips him across the face.

“I don’t have a problem,” he insists, hopping down from the cot, “You’re the one who’s making a big deal out of everything.”

“ _Me_? Oh that’s rich coming from the guy who’s been avoiding me for three days because apparently having sex with me was a mistake,” she mutters bitterly, shoving the bandages and moonshine back onto the shelf with far too much force.

“I never said it was a mistake-”

“-You just said that is shouldn’t have happened!”

“I said it shouldn’t have happened _that way_!” he bursts, and she falters for a moment, giving him a chance to explain himself. “It should have happened when we were both high off jobi nuts-”

“-We were coming off it-”

“It doesn’t matter,” he maintains, letting his head drop. “We were both still compromised and I shouldn’t have started anything while you were in that state. I should have waited or something. Done it differently.”

“Is that what all of this is about? You were worried that I didn’t _consent_ enough?” she snorts, turning to face him with her arms folded over her chest.

“Hey consent is important-”

She cuts him off with an honest to god laugh, stepping into his space and his breath catches. One of these days she’s going to give him whiplash with her mood swings, but right now all he can think about is _Clarke_ and how she must have showered recently, smelling like river water and lavender. “Who would’ve thought that big, bad Blake is actually a gentleman? No wait, a crotchety old man.”

“I was being _safe-_ ”

“You’re cute.

“ _Clarke_.” It comes out sounding more like a whine than a complaint, but he can’t find it in himself to be worried, not when she’s right here, smelling so good and looking so soft and biting down on that bottom lip of hers.

Her finger trails across the vein in his neck and Bellamy is pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe. “You said you would have done it different,” she says, cocking her head to one side. “How?”

“What do you mean how?” he manages to rasp out, hands curling into fists to stop himself from reaching out and touching her.

“I mean how,” she smiles impishly. Unlike him, she has no qualms about touching him and it just makes him ache even more when she runs her hands down the length of his arms or teases the hair at the nape of his neck. “Come on Blake. You made me tell you all my dirty little fantasies. It’s only fair if you return the favour.”

He’s not even going to _pretend_ that seeing Clarke take charge of things isn’t hot for him, and he hopes very hard that she doesn’t notice his growing arousal.

Swallowing thickly he says, “Well, having your wits about you for one.”

“I’m completely clear headed right now,” she retorts. “What else you got?”

“Alone.”

She kicks the hatch and it falls shut, lock clicking in place with a soft snick. “So we are.”

“Not in the middle of the day.”

Her hands drop to the hem of her t shirt. “Where’s the fun in that?” she asks, tugging it up so he’s once again treated to the sight of her soft curves.

“This really isn’t a good idea,” he says, and his voice sounds weak to his own ears, especially when she tugs it off entirely and drops her hand to the clasp of her jeans.

“You know, I distinctly remember someone not shutting up when he fucked me a few days ago,” she cajoles, undoing the zipper next, “What happened? Cat got your tongue?”

“Something like that,” he says faintly, watching her slowly slide her pants down. “Someone can see-”

“Then you better make it quick,” she interjects smoothly, kicking her jeans to the side. She looks up at him with wide, beseeching eyes and he feels the last of his resolve whither away. “Come on Bellamy.”

“You are going to kill me,” he announces before sweeping her up into a kiss.

It’s just as good as he remembers, maybe even better, the way her lips part under his as her tongue flicks out to tease him. She tastes sweet and tart, like the berries they found in the woods yesterday, and he kisses her deeper, longer, drawing it out until she whines. He’d be perfectly content to just kiss her like this all day but then she draws him close and pointedly shoves his jacket off of his shoulders, reminding him that she’s mostly naked and has a specific gamepoint in mind.

“Off,” she murmurs, tugging at his shirt. “Come on Bellamy, take it off.”

“One day I’m gonna teach you about patience, Princess,” he mutters, but undresses quickly while she keeps up a steady chant of ‘ _come on, come on, come on._ ’

“How do you want me?” he asks once he’s down to just his boxers. He pulls her in close, palming her ass as he kisses hot and deep. “Up against the wall again? Or-” He catches her glancing at the cot next to them out of the corner of her eye and gets an idea.

Ever so slowly, he turns her around until her back is to his chest and then, using only the flat of his hand, he presses down on the small of her back until she’s bent over the side of the cot, balancing on her forearms.

“Or like _this_?” he asks, taking in the pretty blush that graces her cheeks.

He pets a slow hand down her spine and feels her shudder with it. “Shit, princess,” he chuckles and she makes a plaintive sound in the back of her throat.

“Come _on_ , Bellamy,” she says, wiggling her ass. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to catch us.”

“Give me a minute,” he says, gruff, “I’m admiring the view.”

“Admire the view later and _fuck me_.”

He slides a hand down her front and is surprised to find her already slick and hot. “Teasing me turn you on, princess?” he smirks, even as he slides his fingers back and forth between her folds. She mewls appreciatively and presses back into him.

“I’ve been thinking about this for the past few days. What do you think,” she shoots back, and he chokes on air.

“Jesus, you can’t just _say_ things like that.”

“Why not? That doesn’t stop you,” she says, whimpering when withdraws his fingers. “Bellamy, come on. Get inside me. _Please_.”

He finally takes pity on her, for both their sakes, and peels off her panties, leaving her bare before him so that he rub his cock against her, coating himself in her arousal before pressing in almost torturously slow. They both cry out when she takes him to the hilt and Bellamy gives her a few seconds to adjust before he starts moving.

He lets his mouth run wild, one hand braced on her hip and the other tangled in her hair as he drives in and out. He tells how amazing she is, how good she feels and, she’s right there beside him, trying to tell him what she wants for all of two seconds before descending into a chorus of whimpers and moans and ‘ _oh fuck yes, Bell’_ s and it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

When he tugs on her hair by accident, she cries out, clenching helplessly down on him and Bellamy snarls, his own hips stuttering against hers.

“Fuck, princess,” he says, gripping her hip with bruising force before he does it again, deliberately, and her moan is deeper, more drawn out than before and _that_ , that is the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

It’s also loud and far too suspicious sounding, which is how he ends up pressing a hand to her mouth to quiet her. What he doesn’t expect is Clarke to take two of his fingers in her mouth, sucking on them softly, and he swears out loud, rhythm going to absolute shit.

She comes just like that, his hand tangled in her messy tresses and his fingers in her mouth as she moans around them, and Bellamy follows soon after, slumping over her back.

“Oh my god,” she groans, pressing her face down against the metal surface when he finally pulls out, tucking his dick back into his underwear. Clarke looks as though she would rather stay like this for the rest of the day, bent over the side of the cot, well fucked, and he tries not to feel too smug.

He finds a fairly clean cloth to start tidying them up with, and it’s only when he starts wiping the evidence of their tryst off the inside of her thighs does she finally straighten up and takes over, leaving him to get dressed in silence.

“You better not avoid me this time,” she warns after a couple minutes, delicately stepping back into her underwear.

“I think I learnt my lesson this time.”

“Good,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, quick. It leaves him gobsmacked and he almost misses the rest of her sentence. “-should do this again. Soon.”

“Again?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “What, you don’t?”

Vaguely he wonders if somehow she knows that this was all he could think about these past few days, driving him insane. That when Bellamy wasn’t too busy running the camp he was thinking about Clarke- holding her, kissing her, fucking her. He’s never had this problem with any other girl before but it’s _Clarke_. She has a way of making the impossible possible, weaseling into places she doesn’t belong.

Shaking his head to clear it, he tries for a smirk. “No you’re right. We could.”

“Glad that’s settled,” she nods, straightening her shirt. Aside from the flush that still graces her features she looks remarkably put together, as though less than ten minutes before she wasn’t moaning his name. It’s another thing he needs to add to his list of surprising Clarke kinks: her composure.

Completely unawares to what’s going on his head at the moment, she walks out, though not before clapping him on the shoulder and saying, “I’ll see you around.”

At least he waits until the hatch drops shut before resting his head against the wall and groaning.

* * *

 

 _‘Around’_ turns out to be exactly that- around the entire camp.

He's not a prude by any means; Bellamy's had more than his fair share of hook ups and threesomes and debauched fun. But before Clarke all of that occurred in his own tent, sometimes someone else’s if they were alone, but it was always within that privacy.

Now he’s probably fucked her maybe two times at most in his tent. Instead she’s pulling him in dark corners while he’s on patrol and sinking to her knees, or making her fuck against a tree, right there out in the open, or even that one memorable time where he finally let her sit on his face atop the roof of the dropship, in the middle of the day where all anyone had to do was look up and squint.

It’s not something he ever thought he’d be into but fuck if Clarke didn’t make it worth his while.

“You know, I’m not actually opposed to the idea of beds,” he says while they’re getting dressed after a quickie down by the river bank. Clarke had lured him out under the pretense of gathering herbs and while she did get what she was looking for, it only took her about ten minutes before she was pushing him down on his back and climbing on top of him.

“But where’s the fun in that?” she croons, and he just huffs, swatting her ass lightly.

He still doesn’t know what that flutter in his chest is whenever she smiles at him, or cuddles next to him as she catches her breath him post coital. Or rather, he has an idea of what it is but he’s not ready to touch it with a ten foot pole, not now, not ever.

Still, she does seem to take his words to heart, because over the next few weeks, he finds her following him more and more often to his tent rather than dragging him off to some secluded part of the woods.

It has its upsides and downsides.

The upsides are that it’s way more comfortable, but the downsides are that she now has to try and keep quiet.

It’s not unusual to hear a cacophony of moans and groans from Bellamy’s tent- he’s known for having company over most nights and while that’s dwindled significantly since he started think of Clarke as less a pain in the ass and more as someone whose hand he’d like to hold, he still has a bit of a reputation.

But Clarke is loud, louder than most, and he always finds himself getting loud in response to her enthusiasm. It’s one thing to hear unidentifiable moans, and it’s quite another to hear him murmuring all sorts of dirty praises with the petname ‘princess’ tacked on to the end. Someone’s bound to put two and two together.

And then there was something that he’s not even sure qualifies as an upside or a downside: Clarke ends up staying over more often that not.

(It’s mostly his fault but Bellamy’s never going to admit that he likes the feel of her wrapped up around him as she drifts asleep.)

It didn’t start like that; at first she used to cut and run before the sheets even cooled, but now she dawdles, learning to bask in the post coital bubble he loves so much.

“I should really go,” she says, but makes no move to start gathering her clothes, or even pulling herself off of his chest where she’s lying, breath still coming fast.

“It’s cold outside,” he sighs, pulling the blankets tighter around them. “You should stay. You know, body warmth and all that.”

“It’s not that cold you big baby,” she mutters, kicking the blankets off her feet and sending a gust of cool air straight through them.

He yelps. “Jesus, Clarke! It’s cold! I’ll end up freezing my balls off. Think about my dick,” he says, tugging her closer.

“I usually am to be honest,” she quips and he pokes her side.

“If you leave, then it’ll freeze and fall off,” he says, pulling a solemn face and she snorts in a rather unladylike fashion.

“Fine. I'll stay,” she yawns, curling into his side more comfortably. “But only because your dick is one of the only good things about you and I happen to like it. Not because I’m tired.”

He's glad that she can't see his smile in the dark. “Get some sleep, Clarke,” he says, brushing his lips on her hair.

“Don't tell me what to do,” she huffs, even as she hitches a leg aver his hip, rubbing her face contently against his pillow. He hiss when she presses her icy toes against his calf and she shushes him.

“Whatever you say Princess,” he says, wrapping an arm around her waist and listening as her breath evens out, eventually lulling him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on [tumblr](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/)


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